spaghetti man

you streak of pasta piss,

virtually useless fucker

without heat, wetness, you are brittle

easily snapped into fragments.

when you are done you cling,

wanting to stick, to stay

inside my convulsing walls.

you are bland, you taste

of nothing.

You fill me up but

it is me that adds flavour.

Today, arrabiata,

tomorrow, you go back 

to your ground up dusty future.

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